


Open your eyes

by Lady_in_Red



Series: Pitchers and Catchers [3]
Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Secret Relationship, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 04:34:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11154351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_in_Red/pseuds/Lady_in_Red
Summary: The team has some suggestions to help Ginny prepare for a pivotal late-season game, and they involve Mike.





	Open your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This will make more sense if you've read the first two parts, but all you really need to know is that Mike and Ginny have been secretly seeing each other all season. 
> 
> Sorry for the delay in posting. For some reason having my kids around on summer break doesn't help me write.

Ginny hefted her backpack over her shoulder and checked her phone as she left her changing room. It was just as late as she’d feared. The game had gone to 11 innings before the Padres finally clawed out a one-run victory.

All season they'd been pulling out last minute victories, defying expectations and proving their critics wrong. They were so close to making the Wild Card she could taste it, and it all hinged on her start tomorrow. 

No pressure.

“Hey, Ginny, you got a minute?”

She looked up and found half a dozen players still sitting in the clubhouse. They must have waited for her, which Ginny had zero energy left to deal with. If they wanted to grill her about Mike’s possible retirement plans, they were going to be disappointed. Mike hadn’t made up his mind yet, and even if he had, she wouldn’t tell them. “It’s late, Blip, can we talk tomorrow?” 

“It’s gotta be tonight, Baker,” Sonny cut in, shifting uncomfortably on the couch between Dusty and Butch. 

Ginny crossed her arms and waited. So maybe not about Lawson. Great. She wasn’t in the mood for a pep talk. At least Mike wasn’t here to offer one of his well-intended but long-winded movie speeches. She’d already warned him not to try that tomorrow.

“Blip, what was so important—” 

God damn it. Ginny turned and nodded curtly at Mike, still shivering from his ice bath as he stood just inside the doorway. 

His eyes narrowed as he looked past her and saw the guys sitting there. “Next time you call a team meeting, you might want to invite the whole team.”

“This isn’t a whole team kind of talk,” Blip explained. 

“Then get to it,” Mike said tersely, taking an empty chair. 

The anxiety gnawing at Ginny’s gut intensified. They wanted Sonny to start tomorrow, and she couldn’t really blame them. He had experience with this pressure, his ERA was lower, he was clearly the better choice. But Ginny had pitched well against the Giants this season and Mike had suggested they not mess with what was already working, so Al had given her the start. The muttering in the clubhouse had made it crystal clear that this wasn’t a popular decision.

Blip turned his attention back to Ginny, the only person still standing. “Look, we all want you to do well tomorrow. We’re just worried.”

Even Blip doubted her? Ginny bristled. “That I’ll have another game like my first? Or like the All-Star game?” Bad enough that the press kept dredging those games up, but her teammates piling on was too much.

Blip held his hands up in surrender, remorse clouding his eyes. “No, Gin, you’ve just been…”

“Tense,” Sonny offered, and Butch nodded in agreement. 

“Tense?” Ginny snorted.

“Come on, Baker, don’t be like that,” Dusty countered.

“Like what?” She folded her arms across her chest. “Like a girl?”

“That’s not it,” Butch protested.

That wasn’t fair. Butch had always been good to her, though his version of chivalry grated sometimes. “If you’re so worried, let me go home. I should be in bed or running hitters with Lawson right now.” She didn’t like the sheepish look her teammates exchanged. She turned to go, but Duarte grabbed her wrist. 

“Sit down,  _ mami_.” His voice was quiet, his eyes apologetic, but he didn’t let go, either. “For the team.”

Reluctantly, Ginny sat, catching Mike’s eye over Duarte’s shoulder as she did. He was grinding his teeth so hard he’d chip one if he didn’t stop. ‘For the team’ was something Mike had been saying all season, whenever they had to push harder, put aside personal glory in favor of the greater goal, or play through the pain. 

Blip cleared his throat. “This has been building all season, Gin. Hell, since last season. On the road, Livan has it covered—”

“What does that mean?” Ginny snapped. If there was one thing she couldn’t stand, it was being managed. Amelia could tell them all about that. The idea that Livan had been playing her all season, whatever he’d been doing, made her see red.

Instead of backing off like he should have, Livan turned his chair toward hers. “ _ Mami_, chill. I have your back. You get so tense sometimes, it’s not good for your game. At least on the road you let me help you relax.” The suggestive wiggle of his brows paired with a dimpled smirk made his meaning unmistakable. 

“My game is fine, and you do not help me  _ relax_.” Her face heated, her gut churning, because now she wanted to throttle Livan. Maybe throw a few pitches directly at his head. All season Ginny had thought he’d kept his mouth shut about Valentine’s night in Peoria. But if he’d been talking about them behind her back, she would never forgive him. 

Livan didn’t even look concerned, the bastard. He shrugged. “Really? We go out, we dance, you loosen up again. And you pitch better when you’re not so wound up.”

“Wound up?” she echoed. “You’re out of your mind.” Ginny would laugh at his smug expression if she wasn't so mortified. They thought her pitching depended on how sexually frustrated she was? Then how the hell had she made it to the majors? After Trevor, Ginny hadn’t gotten any action for two years. Okay, fine, she’d almost pitched a no-hitter the day after she broke her dry spell, but Noah, nice as he was, hadn’t exactly been a superstar in the bedroom. The future Hall of Famer grinding his teeth into dust a few feet away from her, on the other hand, could leave her mindless and boneless with one hand and a few dirty words whispered in her ear.

So what if Ginny liked to dance? So what if Mike never did? They couldn’t dance together anyway. She had fun with Livan, nothing more. The heat and energy and relentless pulse of the music did made her blood run hot, but when the song ended, she didn't want Livan’s hands on her. She wanted Mike’s, and sometimes she went back to the hotel a little early hoping that he would follow her. That had nothing to do with her pitching.

Her teammates, particularly Blip, couldn’t look her in the eye. At least some of them felt some shame about this little ambush. Or maybe they’d seen the thundercloud expression on their captain’s face. No one wanted to be in his path when the lightning struck. “I don’t want to go out dancing tonight,” she said firmly. She didn’t want to do anything but go home and review heat maps, maybe watch some game footage. Wait for a phone call.

Sonny finally met her gaze. “Baker, we know Livan’s just the distraction so you can hook up with someone else,” he said bluntly. 

“What?” she stammered. She and Mike had been careful, so careful. They always left several minutes apart, they never touched each other where someone could see. Mike had even flown into a different airport and driven three hours so no one would suspect they spent the All-Star break together at an isolated beach house in the Outer Banks.

Dusty and Butch looked like they’d rather be anywhere else right now, and Blip was locked into some kind of silent conversation with Mike that looked like it might end in a fistfight.

“I’ll say it,” Livan spoke up, looking annoyed. “You need to get laid,  _ mami_.” 

“Hey, hey, nobody said that,” Blip protested.

Sonny barked a laugh. “Any other player, you would have told him that to his face days ago.”

“Months ago,” Dusty corrected.

“Whoa, you think I need a booty call to pitch well?” Humiliation burned through her, with fury swiftly following. Sonny was right, she’d heard the guys telling each other they needed a little action to take the edge off. And Sonny had made that comment last season about taking her to a strip club, but it hadn’t gone any further than that because she’d started dating Noah.  

“That’s not what we’re saying. You’ve been twisting yourself in knots to hide it all season, but we  _ know_,” Butch said reluctantly.

Her fury drained in an instant, replaced by cold dread. His expression was so understanding and almost paternal, she hated it. 

Before Ginny could say a word, Mike spoke up. “That’s enough. Baker, go home. If I hear any of you pulling this shit again, there will be consequences.”

“You would say that, Lawson,” Dusty drawled. “She sleeps in your shirts on the road.”

Ginny’s mouth dropped open, the lie springing immediately to her lips, “I do not.” 

“That’s bullshit.” She turned and found Sonny eyeing her with one eyebrow raised, a hint of a smirk on his face. “I’ve knocked on your door at least a dozen times this season to invite you to breakfast with the other pitchers. Last season you slept in cute little tank tops and shorts. This season you sleep in a huge men’s undershirt.”

“So?” Her chin tipped up in challenge. She didn’t dare glance at Mike, who probably wasn’t thrilled to hear his shirts called ‘huge.’ “They’re comfortable. And maybe I got tired of you guys creeping on my pajamas.”

Sonny chuckled. “Nice try. I’ve sat with that man on the bus for five years, showered next to his pasty white ass more times than I can count. Either the shirt smells like him, or you do.” 

“You got something you want to tell Lawson, Sonny? ‘Cause for a guy still rocking Drakkar Noir, you pay a lot of attention to how other guys smell.” The shit-eating grin on her face hopefully hid the cold, hard knot in her gut. Sonny was the last person she’d expected to notice something so subtle. Hell, she wasn’t even sure Mike had noticed the shirt she took from his cubby at the beginning of each road trip. 

The guys burst out laughing, slapping Sonny on the arm and teasing him about his crush on Lawson, just as she’d intended. All except Blip. Blip was stone-faced. Maybe they hadn’t all been sitting around talking about her behind her back. Or maybe the guys hadn’t shared everything with Blip ahead of time. He’d made it clear from day one that he thought of Ginny as a sister, after all. Much as she’d love to take him aside and tell him that they’d gotten it all wrong, she couldn’t. “Can we move on?” Blip asked. “I’d rather not talk about Lawson’s ass anymore than I have to.”

Normally she would shoot Mike a smile and a wink at this point, to show these guys they were full of shit and she didn’t give a damn what they thought. But right now she wasn’t sure what would show in Mike’s face if she looked at him. 

“Baker, we’re not trying to embarrass you,” Butch piped up, and Ginny suddenly remembered his words last season, ‘because you and Lawson are so close.’ 

“Well, you did,” she snapped, regretting it instantly. The less bothered she seemed by this whole business the faster it would all be over.   

“I’m sorry, Ginny, but we spend way too much time together not to notice this thing with you and Lawson,” Sonny pointed out, simply, as if it was a known fact.

“Whatever is between me and Baker is none of your damn business,” Mike fairly spat the words. He couldn’t seem to make himself outright lie to his teammates.

Sonny laughed, but Blip looked pissed. “None of our business?” Blip sputtered. “When personal shit affects your play, it’s our business. Doesn’t matter if it’s Javanes losing it because someone nailed his car in the parking garage or Sal freaking out every time he knocks up his wife. So yeah, when you start making mixtapes for your pitcher and get all bitchy when she dances with Livan, we notice. And we didn’t say a damn thing to anyone, even you.”

“It wasn’t a mixtape. It was a thumb drive,” Mike protested, but Butch cut him off.

“I was in high school in the nineties, too, Lawson. You give a girl a bunch of songs you picked, it’s a mixtape,” the older pitcher said patiently, like Mike had given her a bunch of love songs instead of 80s hair band music for her runs. 

“Stop.” Ginny leveled a hard stare at each man, ending with Blip. “Don’t worry about my pitching. The game comes first, last, and always. Now go away and leave me alone.” 

“This is the strangest meeting I’ve ever had.” Butch stood up. “Look, Baker, whatever you need to do to get your head on straight, just do it. That’s all I’m saying.”

Ginny was too surprised to respond as Butch made his way out of the clubhouse.

Sonny sighed heavily, looking back and forth between Ginny and Mike. “If you’re worried everyone knows, they don’t. Hell, I don’t know and I don’t want to know. But whatever is going on, we’ve noticed that it doesn’t happen at home, and your practices the last couple days have been shit.” 

“They have not!” Ginny protested, even though she knew he was right.

Sonny raised a hand to cut her off. “Baker, seriously, I would tell any pitcher this. The only difference is that most of them have better taste than Lawson.”

“Hey,” Mike grumbled. “I’ll have you know this,” he pointed to the beard, then the entire gruff, burly package that was her captain, “appeals to the masses.”

The guys laughed, but Mike wasn’t exaggerating. A married couple had once propositioned Mike right in front of her. Apparently he was on both of their celebrity free pass lists.  

Blip stood abruptly. “I’m going home to my beautiful wife now, and I’m going to try to fall asleep fast enough that she doesn’t pry this conversation out of me. Ginny, you should probably turn off your phone.”

“Ditto,” Dusty said, following Blip. “Except the part about your phone. I’m not calling you, my lady ain’t calling you. I’ll see y’all tomorrow.”

Sonny stood up too. “This wasn’t my idea. I just want that on record.” He clapped Mike on the shoulder as he passed him. 

Livan was right behind him. Duarte turned his sharp-eyed gaze on Mike. “Take care of our girl, Lawson. I’m ready for the playoffs.”

_ Our girl? _ Livan clearly had a death wish. But Mike just nodded at him, like they had an understanding. It was infuriating, and she hadn’t figured out how to respond to it before Livan too vanished through the clubhouse doors. 

The clubbies would come through soon to collect laundry and tidy up, but until then, she and Mike were alone for the first time in weeks. Oh, who was she kidding, she still counted the days. The hours, even. They’d turned phone sex into an artform, but after Atlanta it hadn’t really scratched that itch anymore. She’d gotten as far as starting to order an Uber so many times she’d actually considered buying a car just so she could drive to Mike’s house, knock on his door at 3 a.m. and shove her hand down his pants as soon as the door closed behind them. 

In dimly-lit, impersonal hotel rooms, Ginny knew exactly what to say and do when she was alone with Mike. In the clubhouse, under fluorescent lights and surrounded by the mingled scents of clay and male sweat, she was less sure. Here they were teammates, batterymates, joking around and trying not to look too long at what they couldn’t have.

They’d failed at that last one, if the discomfort radiating off their teammates had been any indication. Apparently Ginny might as well have been wearing a shirt that read:  _ 15 days since Mike Lawson fucked me. _ Well, she’d fucked him, but that wasn’t a detail any of her teammates needed or wanted. Except Livan. He’d made enough veiled comments that Ginny had finally felt compelled to warn him one night in Seattle that Mike was 100% straight and not at all interested in sharing.

“Have you ever thought about it?” Mike asked.

Ginny’s gaze shot to his, a guilty flush darkening her cheeks. “Thought about what?”

Mike gestured to the clubhouse around them. “Us. Here.”

Her face got hotter. The nights they made due with phone sex, Mike never seemed to hold back, sharing scenarios she’d never considered, things she wouldn’t have expected to find arousing. Ginny never pretended to have the kind of experience he did, but she’d shared a lot of her fantasies. The clubhouse, though, that one was her secret. “Once or twice,” she admitted with an embarrassed laugh. “You?”

His eyes darkened. “Every time you lean against the rail in the dugout.”

So basically every game she wasn’t pitching. Ginny swallowed hard, her mouth gone dry. “Really?”

Mike nodded solemnly. “Let’s get out of here, Baker.” She loved his voice and all its variations. Gruff and gravelly, barking and authoritative, or silky and dark, like a touch running over her skin. Right now it was all three.

She shifted her backpack against her shoulder. “You don’t want to talk about what just happened?”

Mike shrugged. “Tomorrow. It’s late, and I’ve got work to do tonight.”

“Oh, okay.” That stung, even though she hadn’t really expected Mike to listen to their teammates’ well-intentioned but ridiculous demands. She pulled out her phone to call for an Uber. 

He turned to his cubby and quickly changed into street clothes. “You’re coming with me, Baker. You can tell me your strategies for the Giants’ hitters when we get home.”

That wasn’t Mike’s usual MO. They looked over the lineup together, he gave his opinion, she countered, and eventually they settled on a plan for each batter. This time she’d been bugging him all week, and he’d put her off every time with a not-so-gentle reminder that he had other pitchers with more urgent needs. “Don’t you want to tell me yours first? You know these guys even better than I do.”

“I’ll be busy.” Mike tossed the last of his things into his bag and hefted it over his shoulder. He turned and looked at her, his lips curving into a slow smile. Like it didn’t matter that she was wearing her usual leggings and athletic hoodie, that her hair was damp and unruly and she was breaking out a little along her hairline. That look made her feel utterly naked. “I’m going to lick you until I’m satisfied that you know these hitters backwards and forwards. And then I’ll let you come.” 

Ginny’s jaw dropped. And she was wet. Suddenly and embarrassingly wet. Her leggings rubbed between her thighs as she shifted from foot to foot. He smirked as he saw her start to squirm. She looked around furtively, grateful to see that all the doors were closed. Still, someone could hear him. “Lawson,” she hissed. “You expect me to look at heat maps while you’re—”

“Going down on you?” he finished with a raised eyebrow. “Gin, I was teasing. We've never mixed work and—” 

He stopped abruptly but Ginny finished the thought. “Play?” She was surprised by the bitterness in her voice.

Mike rubbed at the back of his neck and watched her warily. “You really want to pick a fight right now?”

“No.” She was tired, she knew that, and she was always more prickly when she was tired. That was when she doubted herself, doubted them. She had so little experience with actual relationships, and they hadn’t even put a label on this one other than Mike telling her early on that he would be faithful. He’d never given her a reason to doubt that, and that was probably what had tipped off their teammates.

“We should get going. It’s about a half hour drive,” he reminded her. 

Ginny nodded, not trusting her voice. So they were doing this. Driving home together. At night. To his giant fishbowl of a house in La Jolla. Because their teammates had figured out their secret and decided she needed to get laid to pitch well tomorrow. Her stomach flipped. 

Mike’s brow furrowed. He raked a hand over his beard. “Gin, I can drop you off at your place, too. I can keep my dick in my pants for the team if that’s what you need. You call the play.”

She couldn’t get used to it, the way he flipped that switch from lover to captain so effortlessly. A minute ago he’d been promising to tease her mercilessly with his tongue. Now all she saw in his eyes was concern. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

“Not getting laid?” Mike sounded more amused than annoyed, and he crossed the few feet between them. He wasn’t even touching her, but his nearness was distracting. His calm, solid presence and the freshly-showered scent of him.

“No, that they  _ know_.” After sixteen years in the bigs, Mike was probably used to everyone knowing his business, but she wasn’t. Ginny wasn’t surprised that Blip had put the pieces together, and Livan of course knew, but she didn’t like the idea of the others talking about her behind her back.

Mike scrubbed a hand through his beard. “Lying bothers me,” he admitted. “At least before Atlanta I could honestly say we weren't fucking if anyone asked.”

Was that why they’d waited so long? “Last time I heard that argument was from Brittany Ross in eleventh grade, and it was stupid then.” This man was going to kill her. How he could be so analytical and logical on the field and believe such bullshit off of it she couldn’t understand. Oscar would've seen right through him. So would Al. 

“Well, it’s a moot point now,” Mike grumbled. “Come on, I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

 

* * *

 

Two hours later, Ginny probably needed another shower, but she was pretty sure she didn’t have the strength to stand, much less walk to the bathroom. 

Mike had somehow managed at least a quick clean-up, and the light behind her clicked off as he came back and climbed back into bed. He curled against her back, wrapped arm around her and pressed his lips to her shoulder. “You still awake?”

Ginny nodded. She hadn’t been sleeping well, which he knew. They’d talked about the game on the way home, but since arriving at his house, Mike hadn’t brought it up again. He’d given her exactly what she needed, without having to ask for it. Ice cream on the couch watching a late-night host’s monologue, Mike’s strong hands loosening the knots in her shoulders. The silly domesticity of brushing her teeth standing side by side with him, his t-shirt swamping her smaller frame. And then Mike pulling off that t-shirt and nipping her earlobe while he reminded her she could be as noisy as she wanted. Ginny had been loud, loud enough to echo in Mike’s cavernous house, making them both laugh.

The laughter had been damn good. So was lying here in Mike’s absurdly soft sheets, wrapped up in his arms, even though it would mean calling Evelyn for a ride in the morning. Evelyn would want details and answers to questions Ginny wouldn’t or couldn’t answer. 

“You’re thinking really loud over there,” Mike mumbled with a teasing nip of her shoulder. “Makes me wonder if I did my job.” 

“No, you did,” Ginny assured him. If he’d done it any more thoroughly she might not be able to walk tomorrow, much less pitch, but she wasn’t about to puff up his ego by admitting that. “Just thinking.”

“Less thinking, more sleeping.” His beard tickled her shoulder. 

“Yes, Captain,” she answered with just a hint of sarcasm. If clearing her mind was that easy, Ginny would’ve slept a lot better the last few days. The end of the season was coming faster than she would like, and if she screwed up tomorrow it would be even sooner. Everyone wanted to know if this season would be Mike’s last, but he refused to talk about it, even with her. Though Mike would never admit it, he was in pain more often than not these days. They almost always went over hitters while one of the PTs worked on his back, and he limped slightly after games when he thought no one was watching. Not for the first time, Ginny wished the Padres were in the American League. Mike could play designated hitter for another year or two. Maybe more.

Mike sighed heavily. “I can’t sleep until you do, and I don’t know if you remember this, but I have a really important game tomorrow.” He ran fingertips lightly up and down her pitching arm. 

Ginny laughed. “Really?”

“Yeah, I need my beauty sleep,” he teased. 

“I don’t?” 

Mike chuckled. “You’re always beautiful.”

“Smooth talker,” she whispered, snuggling back against him more firmly.

“One of my many talents,” he agreed. “Go to sleep. We’ve got this.”

“I know.” She wasn’t worried about the game anymore. Everything else was tougher to ignore. Pop had trained her since early childhood to always keep looking ahead, and that was a hard habit to break even when it meant sleepless nights.

“Not just the game, Gin,” Mike said with a gentle squeeze of her bicep, his breath tickling her shoulder as he relaxed against her back. His arm settled around her waist, warm and heavy. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, like he’d read her thoughts. 

Ginny threaded her fingers through his, closed her eyes, and let herself enjoy the moment. Tomorrow could wait.

 


End file.
